Harvest Moon: Trapped with a Madman
by Xmasfish
Summary: I decided to do something a bit different to most harvest moon fics I've read, so in this, not everything is not so nice and warm as in the game. That doesn't mean gloomy, or grim, just...different.


Firstly, although this is a fanfic, in that it is based on a game, it does not feature any characters from the game. Well, a few perhaps (that fat dog for instance) but no-one in particular. I'm not entirely sure that it's still a fanfic in that case. Well, the way I see it, it isn't an original piece of writing exactly. It's different, but it's very much based on the Harvest Moon games. It's on a farm, after all. This is what always happens when I write fanfics. I start out with an idea heavily based on the game, and as I develop it, it becomes less and less connected. Oh well, at any rate, I feel sure fans of Harvest Moon will enjoy this. So let me know what you think!  
  
July the 4th  
  
You know how it is. You wake up, and you know it's just gonna be one of those days when you'll get nothing done. You'll lie in bed too long, you'll have breakfast at noon, watch daytime tv for hours, and go to bed realizing you wasted the day. Well, I wasn't gonna have that today. I forced myself out of bed and throwing on my clothes, headed into the big wide world. Our town is pretty good, if I have to admit it. Not too much traffic, lots of parks, and at this time of year, when the weather's getting warmer, girls are out in hordes, wearing what could be put lightly as summer clothes. And put less lightly as the tiniest tops in existence, not to mention the smallest skirts. It's good to be young. So, anyhow, I was out enjoying the sights, let's put it that way. The sun was shining, the birds were in the trees (well, not the trees. There weren't any trees around. The birds were on top of buildings, or scrounging for food in the park, or getting run over), and all around summer was in the air. Summer and the burger place down the road. I was sat by the pond, nothing in particular on my mind, and I saw this really fit girl. Long, brown hair, nice body, biggest pair of - well, you get the picture. Fancying my chances, I sidled over to her as she sat on the park bench and placed myself next to her in a very suave manner. If such a thing can be done in a suave manner. We got talking, and got on pretty well. Her name was Jane. But after a while, she said she had to go. Obviously, I was disappointed. I'd never really got on with a girl so well before, and had hoped things might lead to a little intimacy by the end of the day. This being summer an' all. Turned out she was meeting some friends, and asked if I wanted to come along. Well, I think you can guess what I said to that. So I followed her, an enjoyable experience, and was introduced to her 'friends'. They weren't the usual kind of people I hang around with. They looked a little rough. Well, they looked rough. Real rough. Rough doesn't begin to describe them. There wasn't a smooth edge to them. But no big deal, I thought. They didn't seem to like the look of me, but Jane said I was cool, and they shrugged their shoulders. So we hung about town with them for a while. They were all in a big crowd covering the pavement and much of the road, meaning anyone in their way had to get out of there real quick. After what seemed like an age of pointless traipsing around, the sun began to go down. I realized how pissed dad would be; I hadn't gone home for any meals or anything. Now the group veered away and down an alley. The leader, a typically dangerous looking person with very few parts of his body not adorned by some crude metal piercing, seemed to be discussing something with the other members of his gang. Then he walked up to Jane, took her by the waist and kissed her, and I mean KISSED her, like only a big guy like that could do it. You could hear the saliva. Then he turned to me. "So this kid's cool, yeah?" he said, pulling Jane close against him, and searching my eyes as if for a reaction. "Yeah, he's cool" she said, rubbing a hand up and down his leather jacket. "You ever steal a car kid?" Half of me reckoned lying to this idiot wouldn't be so hard, but the other half knew it was just going to cause more trouble than it's worth. I really should have listened to the smart half. "Yeah, 'course. Hasn't everybody?" Shouldn't have said that last bit. Shouldn't have said it. The towering brute laughed, turning to the others, who as if on command, laughed with him "Well, let's see ya!" Mentally, I beat the stupid side of my brain into a pulp, while the smart side looked on smugly. But outside, I tried to wear what I hoped would be a confidant smile. It was hard to tell whether it worked or not. The group, each one smiling maliciously, led me to a car across the street. It was dark now, and no one was around. The leader nodded to me, indicating it was time to do what I had apparently done before. Mentally, I cut the bloodied pulp of my stupid brain half into little pieces, which I then fed to imaginary dogs. I looked at the car. It looked very secure. I looked at the leader. He looked very, very amused. I looked at Jane. She looked very, very, very sexy. How were you supposed to break into these things? Well, I'd need to do something about the lock, obviously. I could dimly remember that you used long, wiry things to pick locks. I checked my pockets in vain. Rubbing my chin thoughtfully, I eyed the lock, for no reason other than in the hope that while I was doing it I would look professional, while allowing any passing miracles more time to come and save me from this mess. Nothing happened. "Come on kid!" a gruff voice came from behind me "We haven't got all day" So, it was then that I made possibly the stupidest decision of the day. Looking around, I noticed a large, rather pointy rock. Sighing, I picked it up, aiming the sharp end at the lock, and drawing back my arm. The whole group began to laugh hysterically. I looked at them, they're tattooed faces grinning in anticipation of my failure. I looked at Jane again, smiling. I breathed in, and aimed. Maybe, if I could get it just on the spot. I should have checked the door, I thought on the way to the police station. Maybe the owner had left it open by accident. It happens. Oh well, next time, perhaps. So, anyway, a quick ride to the police station, lots of questioning and waiting around, another ride home, and possibly the angriest lecture in history later, I'm in this car, and looking out on the country road, whizzing by as the sun begins to rise. Dad is sitting next to me, the worst look on his face I've seen in years, and for the dumbest reason ever, I'm on my way to Turnip farm. Too tired to explain, maybe tomorrow.  
  
July the 5th  
  
Okay, here's how dad puts it: My behaviour's been worsening for the past few years, and he's had enough. He always thought this was a nice town, but obviously some people have had a bad influence on me, and if he doesn't put a stop to it, I'll turn into another idiot vandal, roaming the streets at midnight, taking heroin and so forth. A boy should grow up in a peaceful environment, like he had. So, for that rather dubious reason, I'm going to live in the country. Now, most dads would wait a few days, sort out things, give me time to get packed, actually ASK the person who I'm going to live with whether it was alright, give me time to say goodbye to my friends, but not my dad. No, dad packed me some clothes, threw me into the car and headed off before the sun even had time to rise again. Before I knew it, I was standing outside the old, creaking gates of Turnip Farm. What a name! Dad introduced me to his great grandfather, who was exactly like I'd imagined someone would be if they spent their entire life working on a farm. He was old, wrinkled, wore a pair of big, red dungarees covered in muck, he had a really long beard, and he smelled real bad. He was also, I might add, completely insane. As soon as I came in, he offered me a chicken. A live one that is. The whole kitchen was hopping with chickens, eating everything and shitting all over the place. Not wanting to seem impolite, I accepted it, but the chicken didn't seem to want to be held, so it jumped out the door and into the big, open farmyard, where it scoured the bare, dusty ground for hours on end, though I've no idea what it was looking for. Dad sat down with my great, great grandfather (I didn't know anyone actually lived to be a great, great grandfather), and told him about everything that had been happening, and specifically everything that had been happening to me, and how these happenings were usually my fault, because I was an idiot who had a knack for making the kind of things happen that parents are just bursting to tell everyone. And of course, being completely off his rocker, the old man was more than happy to let me stay for as long as I liked. Oh wonderful. I gave it one last try at pleading with dad not to leave me here. I told him I'd be good. I told him I'd never do anything at all without his expressed permission. I told him I'd get a summer job at the store, and earn my keep, and anything, as long as he wouldn't leave me with this old man who smelt like animal faeces. My dad hit me over the head, told me not to call my great, great grandfather such things, and to let go of his leg. I'm pretty sure I could hear him breathing a sigh of relief as he drove down the yard and away down the road, leaving me stranded with the chicken man of turnip farm. As soon as he had gone, my grandfather leapt into the air, and in a strong country accent exclaimed that it was time for lunch. I followed him into the farmhouse, and sat down at the table as he started up the stove. Then, he got a big, metal pot from under the sink, gave it a quick rinse (it seemed to have been inhabited by several spiders and small rodents), and bunged it on top. He filled it with water and vegetables, and then picked up a chicken. I couldn't watch. But fortunately, he was merely leaving the chicken to watch the soup, while he went and picked a hat for the day. So, the chicken and me watched the pot spout steam, and eventually boil over. After a long time, grandfather rushed back in wearing a tall, extravagant hat topped with fake fruit, and hit the chicken over the head with a frying pan, asking why it never did what it was told, god darn it?!! He poured out the soup, which wasn't entirely bad, muttering about how that chicken's always been a problem, and never pays attention, and so forth. After a less than hearty meal (well, hearty for grandfather. He made a point of going 'Mmm!' after every spoonful, and congratulating himself, and asking if I liked it, and then telling himself that I liked it, and so on.), he led me to the stable. Inside were two horses (Funky, a light brown one, and Whistlebum, a black horse, who always looked rather mad, probably because grandfather got to name him). He flung himself on top of Whistlebum, and helped me on Funky, then told me what my jobs would be. They had to be in a specific order for some reason, so he would keep remembering one that came before some other one, and backtracking, going over them all again, and getting through some more before remembering one that came before them. This went on for an hour or so, but basically my duties were:  
  
1. Bring the cows' fresh hay. 2. Muck out the stables. (These first two weren't actually needed, as it being summer the livestock were out in the field, lazing about and doing a lot let work than I would, but grandfather said it would do me good to pretend to, to get used to it) 3. Feed the chickens. 4. Walk the dog. 5. For fairness, walk the cat. 6. Weed the garden (weeds, in grandfather's book, counted as anything that wasn't grass) 7. Read to the chickens (they never get to sleep without a story, apparently) 8. Throw an egg down the hole (the hole was a small depression in the ground behind the barn, which unsurprisingly was full of broken eggs)  
  
Further duties would be issued if I worked hard, so that was something to look forward to. I was then told, while grandfather fumbled around in his pocket and produced a very long pipe, that I couldn't do farm work in "those stupid trendy, dumb street kid, fancy pancy, everyday city boy, hang around town clothes, damn them all with their walkmans and boom boxes, they've never done an ounce of work in their life, bloody ingrates". I would need a good pair of dungarees, and hat to keep the sun off. So, on the evening of July the 5th, tired, covered in horse muck, and wearing a very old, very baggy pair of dungarees, and an awful, lopsided, moth eaten cap, I trudged into the house, had supper (more of that vegetable soup), read the chickens Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and went to bed, where I am now sitting, writing this, and I'm going to stop now before I pass out. 


End file.
